All in the Family
by Faythe Marie
Summary: I think, first of all, we shouldn't tell anyone. And secondly, we shouldn't talk about it. Most importantly, it's probably just a good idea if we pretend it never happened.' Something has gone awry for Hermione and Draco. DM/HP, brief DM/HG. AU, post-DH.
1. Chapter 1

**_All in the Family_**

_Disclaimer: I don't own London, Draco, or Hermione. Or IHOP, I suppose. No money is being made on this project, just a lot of fun. :)_

_Chapter One _

He wasn't quite sure where he was, but he knew that it wasn't where he was supposed to be.

He was _supposed _to be in his flat, on his pull-out, sleeping away a hangover from a recent binge. And, even if he wasn't tucked neatly and safely into bed, he should at least have been in the right part of London.

Honestly, he wasn't even sure he was still _in _London, which was vaguely concerning. All that he knew was that, wherever he was, he was warm and cozy and naked, and there was someone else in bed with him.

Draco stifled a groan, attempting to shift as noiselessly as possible to avoid waking the woman next to him. The fact that it was a woman's bed made the events of last night particularly curious - Draco was fairly certain he hadn't been with a woman since sixth year, when a certain dark-haired Slytherin had shown him the benefits of an experienced man. Something must have been slipped into his drink, or perhaps too many drinks had slipped down too easily. There was no way to be sure.

He managed to turn himself over, and looked over the sweetly sleeping face of a lovely brunette. His eyes traveled down her body, appreciating her lightly-freckled complexion and ample curves. And then, like the proverbial sack of bricks, it hit him.

He'd slept with Hermione Granger.

Harry was going to be furious.

Her eyes fluttered open, and a soft smile graced her before an unrivaled look of horror took over. A small noise that sounded rather like, "Eep!" escaped.

"What the _hell_ are you doing here, Malfoy?!" she shrieked, holding the sheet against her chest in shock and fury.

"I wish I knew," he offered pitifully, noting that his voice had the graveled pitch of a long night's festivities. The four words were the first he'd uttered since awakening.

"Well, how did you get in here?" she demanded, her fury rising visibly with every syllable. Patches of a surprisingly brilliant crimson colored her face and neck.

"I would assume," he said, slowly and rationally, "that you let me in last night. I certainly didn't sneak in while you were sleeping."

"Don't you _dare _make jokes about anything that could have . . . happened last night! Can you imagine what this could do to my reputation?"

Despite himself, Draco was having a hard time taking Hermione's concern as seriously as perhaps he should have been. If "what he'd heard" was true, her reputation was long past spoilt. "I daresay we'll be the talk of London now. All over the tabloids and whatnot."

While she probably knew that her stare would harm him no more than would patting his head, Hermione nevertheless attempted to kill him with a fiery glare. "Tabloid coverage is a very real possibility. We're not exactly considered commoners by the Wizarding community."

Draco half-wished that a serious threat of any sort still loomed over the UK's Wizarding world. The tabloid coverage and speculation of which former Order-member or Death Eater was sleeping with whom was far more tiresome than even housing Voldemort had been.

"What, exactly, do you propose we do, Miss Granger?" Draco drawled, attempting to be as civil and level-headed as the situation would allow. His stomach growled uncomfortably. Pancakes sounded absolutely necessary as a solution.

She sighed and flopped helplessly (and more than a bit dramatically, he thought) onto the bed. "I have no idea."

"Well, how about some pancakes?" he suggested, rubbing his stomach to reassure it that some sort of food stuff or another would soon be there.

"Pancakes?" she asked disbelievingly. "How are bloody pancakes going to help anything?"

Running his fingers through his hair, exasperated, Draco explained, "I'm hungry. You're probably a bit peaked, too. Pancakes are probably one of the only breakfast foods safe after a night like what I imagine this last was."

Hermione was silent for a few beats, staring blankly at the ceiling. After quite a while, she said, "You know, I don't recall anything that happened last night, past when Harry left the pub."

Oddly enough, neither could he. "Maybe something was spiked," he reasoned, thinking it the only solution that both of them would be affected so similarly.

"Maybe." She sighed. "It just doesn't make any sense to me at all. Why would we leave together? Why didn't you go with Harry?"

He grimaced. "Don't believe everything you read in the papers, Granger."

"I don't have to read it to know that you two have something. He's one of my best friends, you realize. There isn't very much that Harry keeps from me."

Not entirely sure how to respond to that and still pondering what had wiped away the evening, Draco took his turn staring off into space. "Maybe," he eventually vocalized, not realizing until after the word left him that it had no space in the conversation. "I'm really starving. Do you have food in this hovel or are we going to have to be seen in public together?"

She scowled but otherwise ignored the jab. "I have a few things here and there. Not so sure about pancakes, though. Maybe there's a box of mix in a cupboard."

Getting up from bed, Draco realized exactly how awkward the entire situation really was. His bits were hanging out for all to see, and his clothes were nowhere to be seen in the room. With a sigh, he sauntered into the kitchen, spying the boxers he'd been wearing the night before on a coffee table in the main room. He struggled vainly to remember exactly how they'd gotten there.

There was a nearly-expired box of QuikMix in the cupboard above the range, and the single egg the recipe called for was found easily enough in the otherwise-depleted fridge. Draco thanked whatever higher being had put this in order for him, and then started about preparing breakfast.

His wand, thankfully, was on the countertop in very plain sight, and seemed to be untampered with. Malignancy officially excused itself from his rather short list of possible explanations. The vague concern grew an inch or two in diameter.

Most wizards cooked with their wands. Draco, however, didn't quite feel up to wielding any form of magic, and didn't want to be responsible for any accidents. He tore through the drawers in search of a whisk, annoyed when he couldn't find one anywhere. The recipe called for a whisk, and he intended to have one, goddammit.

"Hermione!" he called, wincing at how tired and careworn he sounded.

Rather than call across the flat, Hermione padded softly into the small area devoted to food preparation. "What, Draco?"

"Where is the whisk?"

"The what?"

"The _whisk_. The wire whisk you use to mix things together with."

"Oh, right. I haven't got one." She rifled around in a rather unorganized drawer next to the fridge. "Use this," she said, holding up a large spoon.

He grabbed it and sighed, thankful he'd thought to put his boxers on. It would have been difficult to appear so indignant and frustrated if he'd still been naked. "Fine. Do you have a measuring cup?"

Reaching into a cupboard, she asked, "What size do you need?"

"You have a variety of measuring cups and you don't have a wire whisk?"

"I don't _use_ wire whisks, Draco. I use spoons. They work just fine."

"Just give me a two-cup."

She handed him a moderately-sized glass measuring cup, and he poured out the necessary milk and water. "You shouldn't add the water before you add the milk," Hermione scolded.

"And why not?"

"Because the recipe calls for milk, then water."

He blinked. "You've got to be kidding me. Forget the fucking pancakes. Is there an IHOP somewhere around here?"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"So, why is your kitchen in such disarray?" Draco asked, sipping at a cup of coffee. The sudden rush of caffeine in his blood was proving helpful to a speedy recovery.

They were in a privately-owned "Pancake House," having been unable to find a suitable IHOP. Hermione had ordered french toast rather than pancakes, and Draco had requested the restaurants' specialty: the bottomless stack. An uneasy silence had reigned between the two while they waited for their food to arrive.

"My kitchen is not in disarray," Hermione argued. "I know exactly where everything is."

Draco snorted. "Those drawers are an abomination."

"I didn't know you were such an activist for organized cutlery," she shot, sucking furiously at the straw in her ice water. "And where the hell is my french toast?"

The level of insanity that she was approaching was making Draco quite uncomfortable. "Calm down, will you? I don't want to be made a spectacle."

Hermione laughed. "Yes, well, that's a bit late for that, then, isn't it?"

Draco was saved from having to ask what that was supposed to mean by the arrival of their food. The gloomy waitress ominously informed him that there was plenty more where his pancakes came from. Taking it as a promise rather than a threat, he dug in with gusto.

"Ugh, you eat like a pig," Hermione grumbled, picking at her french toast daintily.

Swallowing a quarter of a pancake whole, Draco replied, "You must have kept me busy last night. I'm famished."

As he had hoped, she had no response to that.

"And I'm not being _piggish_," he added, slowing down a bit and cutting his food first. "I just haven't had anything to eat in at least fourteen hours."

"That doesn't excuse bad manners."

"There is nothing wrong with my manners. You're the one shouting for your food like a toddler."

An odd gleam came alight in her eyes, and Draco half-wished he'd just kept his mouth shut. "Give me a break, will you, Malfoy? I've had a bit of a rough time. I'm tired. And you're not exactly my idea of good company."

He couldn't argue with that. Hermione certainly wasn't high on his list of people to associate with. _So then, why are we here?_

It was time to stop drinking.

They ate mostly in silence after that, and Draco took advantage of it to savor the delicious, buttery sweet taste of his pancakes. To him, they were the ultimate comfort food, and he was definitely in need of comfort at the moment.

"What do we do now, Draco?" Hermione asked, her voice a little sad.

"I'm not sure what you mean," he replied. He fully intended, at the moment, to devour at least two more stacks of pancakes, although intuition told him that this probably wasn't what she wanted to hear right now.

"How do we . . . deal with this whole thing?" she rephrased, staring at him intently for some kind of answer.

"Well," he said, setting aside his empty plate, and waving at the waitress to bring another, "I think, first of all, we shouldn't tell anyone. And secondly, we shouldn't talk about it. Most importantly, it's probably just a good idea if we pretend it never happened."

"But, Draco, I don't even remember if we used . . . " she lowered her voice to barely a whisper, "protection."

It was a good thing that nothing was in transport to his mouth at the time, because the splutter that her worry caused was nothing short of a spit take. "You have _got _to be kidding me," he exclaimed, earning a few stares from the closest tables. Their curiosity earned them a vicious sneer. "Hermione, do you honestly I'd . . . have something . . . to give to you?"

"That wasn't what I was worried about, Draco!" she snapped.

"Well, then, what are you worried about?"

Hermione sighed. "Never mind. Just never mind."

Finally wrapping his mind around what she was trying to tell him, Draco's eyes grew to nearly the size of his pancakes. "Aren't you on the pill?" he asked, urgency filling his voice.

"That's none of your business," she huffily replied.

He laughed. "I think you made it my business last night, with whatever the hell happened there."

"How are we even sure that anything happened?" she nearly-shrieked, and even Draco's snootiest glares couldn't save him from being stared at by everyone in the diner.

"Calm down, will you? I told you I don't want you to make a scene."

"I'd rather make a scene than be carrying your seed!" she shot.

Involuntarily, his eyebrow crept up to his hairline. "Okay, you're getting just a little bit hysterical. Let's take care of the check." He looked at the bill, and realized that he had no idea exactly how much a pound was or what the hell it looked like.

"Have you got any muggle money?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

Draco went immediately to his own flat after leaving the diner, and flopped down on his own familiar and comfortable pull-out. It took him approximately thirty seconds to fall into a deep and unshakable sleep.

He woke to a familiar and comfortable face looking down at him, and felt a general sort of dreamy peacefulness. The events of the morning were difficult to believe as anything more than an unusual dream, let alone the events of the night before. "G'morning, Harry," he muttered cozily.

"Morning? It's at least four in the afternoon," Harry said, touching a hand to Draco's forehead. "How long have you been asleep?"

"At least a few hours, I suppose," Draco replied, being entirely unsure exactly when he'd woken up that morning in the first place and equally uncertain of when he'd fallen asleep at home. "How long have you been here?"

"Since two."

"And you didn't wake me up?"

"Believe me, I tried. You were dead to the world." Harry sat up and scooted toward the end of the mattress, fiddling with a corner of the top sheet. "What happened last night? Ginny said she saw you leave with someone a few hours after I did."

Draco groaned. "Oh, Hermione . . . "

"What?"

Wincing and mentally preparing himself for what he knew he had to tell Harry, Draco explained, "I think I left the pub last night with Hermione."

Harry blinked. "You mean, you walked her to her cab, right? Or maybe even her flat, she's not far from it, really, and she hates cabs . . . Or did you - "

"Harry, I _left_with her. I went home with her." As with most things, Harry wasn't making this easy for him.

It took Harry a few seconds to even begin to comprehend exactly what Draco was trying to tell him. "Do you mean that you . . . " The poor man couldn't even begin to get the words out.

"I think I did."

It took even longer for any sort of response this time, and Harry's expression rather reminded Draco of the sort Crabbe had worn in classes at Hogwarts.

"Why would you do that?" Harry finally asked. "What was the draw, the attraction?"

Draco could tell by the hurt and indignant glare in Harry's eyes that he would have to tread carefully around this one. "I honestly don't know. I mean, you know that I don't have any but a passing interest in women - "

"Do I know that, Draco? For all I know, you've been sleeping around with all sorts of _women._" The emphasis placed on "women" made it seem as though the word could have easily been replaced with, "children," or, "sheep."

"Why the hell would I want to sleep with Granger?" Draco asked, feeling his temper rise and cursing himself for not controlling it.

"I don't know! Why _did_you sleep with Hermione?" Harry shouted, a vein near his temple pulsing madly.

Draco sighed. "Okay, okay. Try to understand - I wouldn't be doing this with a lot of people and then only tell you about one. If I were sleeping around as a habit, I just plain wouldn't tell you at all. And I certainly wouldn't get caught over a one-night stand that I can't even remember."

"What do you mean, you don't remember it? You just told me you slept with her." Harry was still a bit angry, Draco could tell, but the introduction of logic and reason into the discussion had helped soothe him a bit.

"I woke up this morning, stark naked, in her bed. My clothes were all over her flat, and so was whatever she'd been wearing. I can only assume that something happened between us, because I don't usually break into the homes of muggle-borns and skew my clothes all over the place then crawl into their bed for a lovely nap. She couldn't remember what happened, either, although she was as certain as I was that we'd done something we shouldn't have." He sighed. "Does that make sense now?"

Harry exhaled heavily, expelling the negative thoughts and nagging doubts along with it. "I suppose it makes some sort of sense. I just don't understand why you would leave with her in the first place . . . Why if you were that horny, you didn't just leave when I did."

"I didn't leave when you did because we'd had that row about the jukebox, remember? You wouldn't stop playing that song that I hate."

"So, what, did Hermione mop up your tears or something?"

"I don't know. I don't remember much past you leaving. I know I sat down with Ginny and that oddball, Luna, and that Hermione came over and joined us and that we were talking about something obscure . . . it may have been a potion she's been working on . . . and then the next thing I remember is walking up."

Shaking his head, Harry scooted towards Draco and draped his arm over his shoulder. "Is this something that's going to happen again?"

"Of course not! I'm absolutely certain that I was just as perturbed and disgusted this morning as you were when I told you what happened."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, I doubt that."

"Have you ever woken up naked with a woman and not known how in the hell you got there?"

"I've never woken up naked with a woman!" Harry joked, laughing and biting playfully at Draco's earlobe.

Draco delicately raised an eyebrow and looked at his lover, noting a very familiar gleam in the man's eye. "What, did talking about being naked get you going or something?"

"Maybe."

"You're not angry with me?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm sure it's nothing a nice romp can't fix."

"That's your solution to everything."

"Are you complaining?"

Draco grinned and gave a rather raucous wink. "Not now, not ever."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Feeling extraordinarily satisfied and content with himself, Draco squeezed his lover's arm affectionately. "How do you feel now?"

Harry snuggled into Draco. "Tired."

"Not angry anymore?"

"About what?"

Draco smirked. "Exactly."

Before long, Harry was snoring like a bear and Draco was restless, tossing and turning on the mattress not meant for two, let alone for sex. He wasn't at all tired, he wasn't hungry, and it was too early to start in on any spirits. The restlessness he felt was a dangerous sort - one born of boredom and a discontented spirit. Despite having dismissed the "Hermione episode," as he was referring to it mentally, he couldn't help but feel a bit guilty for having gone against Harry - particularly with a woman, and particularly with Granger.

After a while of staring blankly at the ceiling and counting the tiles from corner to corner, he decided that what he needed was a good, cleansing shower in scalding hot water. There was a good chance, after all, that he still had muggle-born bacteria and whatnot on his skin, and he blamed the dirty feeling he couldn't seem to shake on its existence. It had nothing to do with his conscience. Of course not.

He padded as quietly as he could to the small, pathetic cubicle of a bathroom, annoyed anew at the loss of family funds and property. The Ministry had confiscated nearly all of his inheritance, leaving him with only a sliver of the Malfoy's expansive estate to liquidate in order to pay the rent. Harry had offered to "help him out" once it became quite clear that nothing he had thought would be his would ever touch his hands, but the rather wide streak of pride in Draco's personality made him forcefully decline.

_At least I still have somewhere to take a shower, _he tried to reason, and somehow it just didn't have the calming affect that it once had. With a heaving sigh, he started the shower and the process of cleansing.

The water and the steam felt good on his skin. He was relaxed for the first time in at least 24 hours. And, for the first time since he woke up, he wasn't thinking about Hermione or the possible implication of what could have happened there.

_Yes, indeed, _he thought as he scrubbed copious amounts of shampoo into his hair, _life is good._

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Life continued in a relatively good-fashion until roughly two weeks later, when a howler awoke him by bursting into flames over his bed and nearly setting him on fire.

The voice was one he knew far too well, and it was one he'd hoped he wouldn't be subjected to for quite some time yet.

Listening with the confused mentality of a sleeper aroused, he heard two words that he never thought could be shouted quite so angrily.

"_I'M PREGNANT!_"

And suddenly, the singed sheets he was lying on were the least of his problems.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

"How did this happen?" Draco demanded, pacing back and forth across Hermione's worn carpet.

She snorted and gave a derisive, mirthless chuckle. "How do you think it happened? You're familiar with the facts of life, aren't you? You see, when a man loves a woman very much - "

"That's quite enough out of you, thank you," Draco shot, rubbing his temples and trying to keep from pouncing at the girl. "I _know_how it happened. I just mean, how could we have let this happen? Isn't the window of fertility rather small?"

"Yes, well, I suppose we just got lucky," Hermione laughed. Her giggle was high-pitched and more than a little frenzied. Draco was half-watching for signs of hyperventilation.

"I'm glad you think this is all funny, but I'm not amused." He flopped gracelessly (showing his distress - Draco never _flopped_) onto her sofa and hung his head between his legs. "Well, what are you going to do about it?"

"_Me_? What am _I _going to do about it?" Hermione seemed rather indignant suddenly, and although it was a nice change of pace from her inappropriate jokes and uncomfortable giggling, Draco wasn't certain it was warranted. "This isn't just _my_problem, Draco. You fathered the little cretin."

"And you're certain of that?"

"_YES!_" she shouted, frustrated beyond all belief. "Trust me, if there was someone else I could pin this on, don't you think I'd be having this discussion with him? You're not exactly the ideal father-figure."

Offended now, he demanded, "What in the hell is that supposed to mean? I would be a wonderful father."

Hermione burst into those odd little giggles again, and this time they snowballed and grew into a rather extended and uncomfortable laughing spurt.

"And what, exactly, is so damn funny?"

She wiped her streaming eyes and rubbed her stomach, reminding him once again of why they were having this discussion in the first place. "I'm sorry, Draco, you're just not my idea of what a father should be. I mean, you have no money, no morals, no decent role models to speak of, and you're gay. Forgive me if that's not the sort of person that I want to have a family with."

"Oh, and you think you're the only one uncomfortable with the idea? I mean, for Christ's sake, you-re a - " He caught himself, barely, before the word "mudblood" slipped from his tongue.

"A _what_? Go ahead and say it, Draco! Am I a _mudblood_, still?" Her sneer was defensive and her glare was fierce. Nevertheless, Draco was more than a match for her.

"Yes, Hermione, yes! You are a muggle-born, you are tainted, you are impure, you are _not_the woman I want to give birth to my first-born!" Fury, intense, adrenaline-fuled fury filled him and flowed outward. "As a matter of fact, I don't _want_you having this baby! I don't want to have anything to do with your . . . muggles and I don't want my children affected by any heathen muggle rituals!"

"So, what are you asking me to do? Abort it?" Hermione shrieked, clearly picking the most ridiculous and out-of-the-question solution she could think of.

The more he thought about it, the better the idea sounded. "Why don't you? In all seriousness, putting everything aside, why wouldn't that be ideal?" Having grasped a plan, a reasonable course of action, his fury evaporated somewhat, leaving in its wake a restless urge to act, and the action he had to take now was convincing Hermione that his plan was best. "We clearly can't give this baby the kind of life that it deserves. And it wouldn't it just be better for both of us if this just . . . never happened?"

She looked at him quizzically, hatred burning deep and intensely in her eyes. "You're serious, aren't you? I mean, you're actually serious. You want me to have the child_scraped _out of my body just because it's not convenient for you? I swear, you are the dirtiest, filthiest son of a _bitch_I've ever met." Her tone was purely contemptuous. Each word was venomous, spat like the deadliest of poisons.

Oddly enough, all Draco could think of in response to that was, "Don't you dare talk against my mother. She was a better woman than you could ever hope to be."

Hermione scoffed. "Oh, really? Is she the one who taught you to run away from your problems?"

"No!" _That would be my father's doing_, he thought, and nearly added. Something told him, however, that sympathy wasn't high on her list of emotions extended towards him. "Look, I'm just saying that we both aren't ready for this, in any sense of the word. And we certainly aren't the ideal co-parent for one another."

"So that means that the baby should just go away and we should move on with our lives."

"Yes," Draco urged, hoping that she was finally seeing reason. "Yes, exactly. I'm sure you'll have a chance to have some nice little Weaslings further down the road. Weren't you still seeing the youngest, the one who went to school with us?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but Ron and I haven't been together for quite a while. Thanks for keeping tabs on my love life, though." She sighed heavily and absently gazed out the small window. "Draco, please try to understand that I'm not going to do what you're so desperately urging me to do. That wasn't an option, it's not an option, and it's never going to be an option. So just let it go, and let's try to make the best of this."

"All I mean is that - "

"I've heard what you have to say, and I'm not buying it. So end it, Draco. If you don't want to have anything to do with the baby, that's your decision. I can manage on my own, and it's not like you have very much to add to the family."

Despite Hermione not being the ideal woman and the circumstances being far from what he'd ever imagined, the idea of having nothing at all to do with his child made his heart sink slightly. "That's not what I was trying to say at all."

"No?" She turned toward him, and he could see why she'd turned away: Tears stained her cheeks and lip was trembling.

"No." He sighed. "I just always thought this would happen so differently . . . "

Surprisingly, the tiniest of smiles played at the corners of her mouth. "Me, too." She wiped at her eyes. "But that doesn't mean that we can run away. This is a lot bigger than the two of us now, you realize that, don't you?"

Returning her tiny smile and feeling a sudden sadness stab at his heart, Draco replied, "I'm starting to, yes." He sighed again, trying to keep back the emotions grappling at the back of his throat. "I want what's best for the baby," he said, and the words broke the dam he was struggling to keep in place. A soft tear rolled away from the corner of his eye. He jabbed at it with his thumb. "I want what's best for us."

She reached across the sofa and wiped away a wayward tear streaming down his nose. "I know, Draco." They sat in silence for a while, listening to the soft sounds of a crowded apartment complex in the evening. Downstairs somewhere, a baby wailed, and it made him shiver slightly.

"It just seems like so much . . . " he found himself whispering, unsure of whom he was whispering to.

"Well, it's not going to be easy," Hermione replied, matching his soft tones. Neither was willing to break the unusual and blessed peacefulness that surrounded them. "But we can do this."

"Do you really think so?"

She smiled, a toothy grin that held the promise of good things to come and hard times to weather. "Yes, I do."


	4. Chapter 4

_Note: To clear up any confusion, this is and will remain a Draco/Harry fic. However, there are elements of a platonic relationship between Hermione and Draco. Sorry if I tripped anyone up!_

_Chapter Four _

Harry strode briskly down the hall and knocked fiercely on Draco's door. His key wouldn't work in the lock anymore, and every charm he could think of to break into the flat was useless. "Goddamn it, Draco! I know you're in there and you need to open this door!" He waited with his ear pressed against it.

Apparating hadn't worked - he'd tried that first when the door wouldn't open. Draco hadn't emerged from his little hidey-hole for three days, although Harry could hear the television going and sometimes imagined that he heard a cough from inside, or the sofa cushions squeaking. "What in the hell is going on in there?!" he demanded, not especially expecting an answer but feeling better for having shouted nonetheless.

There was nothing.

Frustrated and not knowing what else to try, Harry left.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"I haven't seen him since Sunday, Harry," Hermione informed the indignant man stalking through her apartment apartment. Harry looked in all of her cabinets and cupboards, peeking underneath the bed and in the shower for what she could only assume was Draco. Nevertheless, she felt compelled to ask, "What exactly are you looking for?"

Harry sighed. "I have no idea. Draco, I guess, but it's kind of ridiculous to think that he'd be in your pantry, huh?"

"Well, it's equally ridiculous to think that he'd be in his apartment, hiding from the world and protecting himself with a barrage of charms," she mused, wringing her hands nervously. "Why don't you sit down, or something? You're making me fidgety pacing like that."

"Fine." He threw himself onto her sofa and stared at the wall. "When was the last time you saw him, again?"

She stared at him. "Are you okay?"

"No! He won't answer the door, my bloody key won't work, and I haven't heard a damn thing from him in _days_! He could be dead in there for all I know and I wouldn't be able to get to him!"

"Maybe he just needs some alone time."

"And why in the hell would he need alone time that involves him literally holing himself up like that? It just doesn't add up to me."

Hermione sat down at the other end of the couch and grabbed hold of one of Harry's feet - the incessant jiggling he'd been doing was driving her crazy. "Didn't you say you heard him coughing?"

"Well, he could have choked!" Harry sighed. "That sounds pretty absurd, doesn't it?"

"Yes." Hermione scrutinized the foot she was holding more carefully. "You need new shoes."

"Oh, please don't change the subject," Harry protested. "It's not going to make the problem go away."

"How are you so sure there's even a problem? Draco's not exactly a public person. Maybe something's upsetting him." Hermione tried to reasonable, but her insides were jumping. She realized what would be potentially traumatic and upsetting to him - and it wasn't something she was ready to divulge to Harry.

"What is it?" Harry asked, looking at her shrewdly and correctly interpreting her expression. "You just thought of something, didn't you?"

"Of course not," she protested, sounding even to herself like the biggest liar on the face of the planet. "I have no idea why Draco would act so out of character."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, well, when you're ready to tell me, just go ahead and say so. It's not like I haven't got all day. No plans without someone to do anything with!"

Hermione delicately raised an eyebrow, seizing her opportunity to successfully push the subject away. "You know, you're allowed to go out without Draco."

"I know that, it's just . . . I don't really want to anymore." He sighed. "There isn't any appeal to doing anything without him, really."

She smiled. "You really like him, don't you?"

The wistful glow in Harry's eyes said it all. A soft grin curled at his lips and he seemed relaxed for the first time since he'd blown into the flat like a hurricane. "Yeah, I really do." The wistful glow dissipated as a cold fury took its place. "Which is why it _irks _me so bad that he'd just hide and not even offer a feeble explanation! I know he doesn't have an easy time sharing, but don't I deserve at least some kind of warning?"

"Well," she said, a sage note to her voice, "things happen. Things that we don't exactly have time to plan for, you know?"

He stared at her blankly. "No. I really have no clue what you're talking about."

Struggling for an example, she seized on Harry's own experiences. "Well, like you and your destiny. You didn't ask for that, you know? It just happened, and you had to make the best of it."

"Well, I think that's a bit different than holing myself up and not even telling my best mates about it!"

"That's not at all what I was driving at, Harry," she said, a bit exasperated at how thick he could be. "People react to different situations differently, you know. You reacted to what life threw at you with courage and . . . bull-headedness, really . . . and Draco's reacting to whatever's happened to him by putting himself in a safe place where he can work it out. Do you understand what I mean now?"

"I suppose," he grumbled. With a heaving sigh, he pulled himself off the couch. "Do you want to go out for lunch or something? I haven't been able to eat much lately and I'm really hungry."

"Sure," she said, wondering what exactly it was about her flat that made her male visitors ravenous. "How do pancakes sound? I know a great little restaurant."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

The most humiliating experience of Draco's life, hands down, was the ferret incident with the fake Mad-Eye in fourth year. It wasn't something that he liked to dwell on, for obvious reasons, but he couldn't help but think of it in the days following his visit to Hermione's apartment. Like a ferret faced with a vicious and deadly predator, he was hiding.

Hiding, mostly, from Harry, although he certainly didn't want Hermione to find him, either. He'd answered no owls, hadn't responded to the door (despite frequent and desperate visits from Harry), had installed a deadbolt to keep Harry's key from working. Charms, too, were in place around the apartment - they weren't terribly strong but Draco knew that his main visitor would never find the ways around them. The only way another living soul would enter his flat would be with his permission.

He'd never really spent much time with the television before, had barely seen the merit of the funny muggle machine, but it had been a gift from Harry and he couldn't bring himself to get rid of it. Now, he was thankful that it hadn't found its way to the dumpster - daytime television was soothing to his frayed nerves. Dr. Phil was a wonderful show, he'd found: Watching other people's lives fall apart made him feel significantly better about himself.

What bothered him, though, were the diaper and formula commercials he kept seeing every other break in the program. The last thing he wanted to be reminded of at the present were his problems.

So, sometime after the first day of seclusion, he switched to the rather tall stack of action movies Harry had lent him. Only two of them even had mentions of babies, and they were nearly toddlers. None of them discussed which brand of diapers were best or what formula would get rid of your infant's hiccups. The sometimes-decent special effects held his attention. Draco was happy.

Halfway through his second viewing of "Lethal Weapon 4," his door spontaneously disintegrated and Hermione stepped through, wiping dust off of her shoulders and scowling at him. "Have you any idea how worried Harry is?"

"Just in time," he drawled, trying to hide his shock and dissuade his amazement. "You almost missed the best part. They're about to get the villain."

"Oh, great. You're making jokes like this is just the greatest thing in the whole world."

"Do something about the damn door, will you? Anyone could walk in with it . . . in dust like that."

"Well, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing! Maybe a friendly burglar will take away your telly so you'll pay attention to the people who love and need you!" Her righteous fury seemed to help suck away the stale fright he hadn't been able to shake away on his own.

"Look, I'm having a rather rough week, okay? So just fix the bloody door and sit down like a civilized person so we can discuss this." A sudden explosion from the television drew his attention back to the film's plot. "After the movie's over."

"I'm not going to wait for your goddamn movie to end so that we can 'talk'! There really isn't anything to talk about, Draco, I just wanted to let you know that you're being a coward and a fool and that you're needlessly worrying someone who should mean a lot more than you're showing."

"Well, tell him that he has my humblest apologies that I didn't invite him to my slumber party."

"Do you think that's what it is? That he feels left out because you haven't been spending time with him? Oh, you're even more of a fool than I thought you were."

"Don't you _dare _insult me! I know perfectly well the consequences of my choices. I plan to emerge before the child's birth, if that's what you're worried about. I'll long since have run out of food by then." He scooted over slightly as an invitation to end the conversation.

"Draco, you can't keep doing this. You can't just hide until there's nowhere to hide anymore. You have responsibilities, and Harry isn't the only one who misses you, you know."

He laughed. "No? Who else misses me, then? My friends - oops! I don't have any! The only people who associate with me now do so because of their foolish loyalty to Harry." Somberly, he shook his head. "No, there really isn't anything out there for me. Tell Harry I'm sorry - I just need some time."

She sat down next to him, pulled her feet up underneath her. "You know, I'm starting to think that there's a really good reason why pregnancy lasts so long."

"Why's that?" he asked, curious against his will.

"Well, for the obvious reasons - the baby needs time to grow and develop - but also because the parents need time to adjust to the idea of being parents."

Draco let that sit with him for a while before he replied, "You really think so?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I suppose that makes sense." He sighed. "Look, I know I'm not going about this the right way - "

"You think?" she shot.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm an awful potential father, I know. That's not what I was getting at." He looked away from her, away from the alluring pull of the television screen. "I just don't know how to deal with this yet. I wanted to give myself some time to think things through, come to a logical solution for everything that's happened."

"Lucky you for having so much free time on your hands."

"Are you ever going to stop taking pot shots at me?"

She grinned. "It keeps you on your toes."

"Yes, well, I prefer to be flat on the ground, thank you."

"Look, Draco, what I was getting at with the length of pregnancy thing is that you don't _have _to be ready right now. You don't even really have to accept the idea yet. Honestly, you can wait months and months until you care whether or not you're going to be a father."

"That's not how I work, though."

"Well, I'm just saying."

"Yeah, I know." He sighed again, realizing that he'd been doing an awful lot of that lately. "I just want to be prepared as soon as possible. I really don't know where to start . . . "

"Well, start with not hiding in your flat."

He grinned, running a hand through his hair. He was desperately in need of a shower. "Yeah, that would be a good place to start." They both stared at the screen for a while, transfixed by the glow of Hollywood and the gristle of a heated battle.

"Do you mind if I stay and watch this with you for a while?"

Feeling content with himself for the first time in what felt like a long time, Draco nodded. "Be my guest."


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five_

It wasn't very common for Draco to be nervous (that was what he told himself, at least), but tonight, he couldn't seem to keep his palms dry.

Harry was due in less than an hour, completely unaware that Draco had spent the entire day cooking and cleaning and acting like he was trying to win Best Housewife of the Year - all to set a romantic mood in his dreary little flat. Now, finally, he'd changed out of the old sweats he used for pajamas when he wasn't expecting company and into a rather debonaire ensemble. His hair was coifed and gelled to its masculine perfection and, to all appearances, he was calm and collected and decidedly _suave._

_Yes, that's it_,he told himself, _I am suave. I am romantic and I can woo Harry while breaking terrible news to him at the same time._

He snorted and ran a sweaty hand through his hair, quickly ruining its suave effect. _Like hell I can._

Luckily, his inner torment was soon over as the doorbell rang and outer torment took its place.

Harry was wearing jeans ripped in several places and an old, ratty t-shirt that proudly proclaimed he was a fan of English rugby. His eyes widened remarkably when he saw what a transformation the ordinarily-drab rooms had undergone. "Wow . . . " he breathed. When he saw what Draco was wearing, a touch of shame darkened his face and he muttered something that sounds suspciously like, "Uh-oh."

Visibly annoyed but trying to contain it, Draco instead chose to expel all of his negative energy in a deep, cleansing exhale. "I thought I specifically mentioned that you should dress up this evening."

"Well, yeah, but I thought you were joking. I mean, it's not like it's our anniversary or anything."

Despite trying desperately hard to control his facial muscles, Draco could nonetheless feel his left eyebrow creeping skyward. "No, of course not. It's nothing special, just . . . " He sighed. "I had kind of hoped you would at least try to listen to me this time."

Harry scoffed. "Okay, well, I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean," he said, descending quickly upon Draco and taking him in a firm kiss. "But thank you for all of this."

Trying not to lose himself in the kiss, knowing he would need all of his wits about him, Draco mumbled, "I just wanted to do something special for the two of us."

"Do you want me to go change?" Harry asked in a low rumble.

Draco pushed himself away from Harry, knowing that if he spent another second in such close proximity it wouldn't matter who had been wearing what or where their clothes were. "No. Let's just . . . eat dinner. I made you something special."

Lately, he'd been investigating what muggles considered to be the tastiest of their foods and he had decided conclusively that he loved Italian cooking. Tonight's dish was a meat-laden lasagna with mozzarella-garnished salad as a side. It had taken him all day to finally achieve the combination of tastes that he was after and he was more than proud of himself for what he'd done.

"Set the table, will you?" Draco called from the kitchenette.

Harry obediently placed the silverware and plates in their places and filled wine glasses with the chilled red he found in the fridge.

"And light the candles?"

He did, and then slinked behind Draco and caught him in a hard embrace, purposefully and forcefully pressing his pelvis against Draco's backside. "Taken care of. Hurry, will you? I'm starving."

Draco smirked. "Yes, I can tell. Hope you like Italian."

Harry stepped away as Draco carried two platters to the small dining table. "I like it well enough," he said.

"Well, hopefully you'll enjoy this," Draco said, setting the platter in front of Harry and adding, "I spent all day on it," without really being sure why that detail was necessary.

Harry eyed the blob of odd, wavy noodles and tomato-heavy meat sauce with more than the recommended dose of caution. "What is it?" he asked, clearly trying not to hurt Draco's feelings.

Draco's heart sank more than a little as he dug into his own plate with gusto, hoping to set an example for his lover that all was well with the meal. "It's lasagna. It's really very delicious. Try some."

He cut himself a small piece and lifted it to his mouth, abruptly holding it there. "What are the little white things in this?" he asked, suddenly very wary.

_Just eat the goddamn food and shut up! _ Draco's mind was suddenly not feeling very hospitable. This, he realized, was rather comparable to introducing a new meal to a toddler. The baby and parenting books Hermione had been leaving with him frequently mentioned how difficult a child's eating habits could be. "Cottage cheese mixed with egg. It's a binding agent, so the noodles don't slip around everywhere."

"Oh," he said, smiling a bit and happily trying the bite perched on his fork. "Merlin, this is good!" Harry exclaimed, much more interested in what was on his plate now. "What did you say it was again?"

"Lasagna," Draco replied, all smiles now as he watched Harry eat with vigor. "I'm glad you like it."

They ate in silence for a while, both paying rapt attention to their plates and listening to the soft strains of a concerto softly playing in the background. _It's now or never, _Draco reminded himself, trying to gather the strength to say what needed to be said. "Harry, I - "

Harry smiled gently. "You don't have to say it," he said, his voice as gentle as his smile. "I already know."

Bewildered, Draco asked, "But, how? I mean, how could you possibly - "

"It's okay. I'm a bit more intuitive than you might think," he replied. The soft, smooth edges to his voice filled a bit now with raw, vibrant emotion. "And I love you, too."

Choking on a bit of lettuce, Draco stared bug-eyed at Harry for a while. "You _what_?"

"Well, that's what this is all about, isn't it? The atmosphere, the music, the candles, the wine, the food, your rather sexy outfit . . . I assumed that you had something important to tell me. " He reached across the table and covered Draco's hand with his own. "And I couldn't think of anything that mattered to me more."

At a complete loss for words, Draco was at least grateful that Harry had given him free reign not to "say it." "Yes, well . . . me, neither," he finally managed to squeeze from his rather constricted throat. The hand underneath Harry's was getting rather sweaty again.

Harry sighed audibly and leaned back in his chair. "Oh, I feel so much better now," he chirped happily. "I've been keeping that inside for far too long."

Draco made a feeble attempt at a grin. "Me, too."

"Really?" Harry's eyes lit up in the dim candlelight.

_Slytherin House Rule #5 - Know how to lie. _"Oh, yes. I just couldn't find the right way to express the way I felt."

"Me, neither!" Harry exclaimed. "I'm so glad we're on the same page, Draco. I've wondered for months if you really felt the way I did."

_Months?_ Draco wondered. "Months" ago, they'd barely just began seeing each other regularly. Suddenly he was feeling more than a little uncomfortable continuing this line of conversation. He pushed his plate away and stretched languidly, trying to give the appearance of a warm and happy man.

Harry stretched as well, and quietly rose to stand behind Draco's chair.

"What're you doing?" Draco asked, still quite on edge.

"Just relax," Harry replied, and started kneading Draco's shoulders. The soft touch and reaching fingers eased the guards he'd purposefully put up around himself to protect his secret. Draco couldn't relax. Relaxing was the exact opposite of what needed to be done at this point in time.

"What are you thinking about?" Harry breathed wistfully. The romantic atmosphere Draco had very carefully arranged was, apparently, working just fine, although it was achieving exactly the opposite of what he'd hoped. Now Harry wanted to talk about _feelings._

"I'm thinking that I'm enjoying this massage," he said, hoping that something so blunt and obvious would put off this odd and lovestruck new Harry.

"Mmm," Harry sighed contentedly. "Let's go to the couch."

Draco thought about all that would happen should things progress to the living room and, while the idea was extremely appealing, he knew he had to tell the whole truth before it went that far. Hermione was going to kill him if Harry didn't find out tonight.

He sighed. "Harry, I really do have something to tell you." He stood up and stared him directly in the eye.

Harry smiled, the dreamy gaze still hiding behind his glasses. "Yes?"

"Will you _please _stop acting like a teenage girl with a crush on her teacher? It's starting to make me feel a bit ill." The glow abruptly died and Harry's eyes narrowed. Draco sighed. It was better than nothing. "Hermione's going to have a baby."

"What does that have to do with you?" Harry asked warily.

Draco stared at him, trying to gage how serious he was. "Maybe I should put it this way . . . Hermione and I are going to have a baby."

"Why would you want to have a baby? I mean, if you want a child, we could always adopt, or there are several potions that allow for that sort of thing - "

"_Listen to me!_" he shouted, hating that he'd had to raise his voice but unwilling to take it any longer. "She's pregnant and it's mine! Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"

Harry's face had undergone some interesting changes during their time together. He'd come in looking quite white and abashed, had turned a happy, healthy pink during their dinner, and now was approaching a shade of crimson Draco didn't know was possible to achieve.

"You're trying to tell me that . . . Hermione is pregnant."

"Yes."

"And that . . . the baby belongs to you."

Draco nodded.

"And this happened on the only occasion during our entire relationship that you cheated on me."

Draco wasn't entirely sure if it had been "cheating" or not, considering he couldn't even remember the incident, but decided that correcting Harry probably wasn't wise at this point. "Pretty much, yes."

"Did you put this whole dinner together so that you could find some way to break it to me gently?" Harry asked, his voice shaking slightly.

Draco sighed. "Now, that's not exactly fair. I wanted to do something nice for you."

Harry laughed. "Were you doing something 'nice for me' when you were banging Hermione?"

He knew he deserved every shot Harry took at him, but Draco couldn't take any insult lying down. "No! I was doing something foolish and wrong. That doesn't mean it didn't happen and that doesn't mean we don't have to deal with the consequences now."

"We? We have to deal with this? No, Draco, 'we' don't have to deal with anything. _You _do. I'm not going to take this shit. I don't deserve it." He strode angrily towards the door.

"Oh, so you're just going to leave now? You're just going to walk away?"

"I don't need your shit, Draco. I don't need your mistakes."

He left without another word.

Draco considered going after him, considered chasing him down the hallway and making him see that this wasn't something he'd _done _to Harry, wasn't something that was meant to get back at him for whatever past crimes had been committed. He wanted to shake the stubbornness out of him, make him accept and stay. _What happened to loving me! _

In the end, Draco did nothing but put away the leftovers.


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter Six_

Four long, uneventful months had passed and the novelty of pregnancy was wearing off. Sixteen weeks in and she barely showed - but that wouldn't be for long. It was time that she spilled the news.

It was strange, but she was vaguely hoping that the whole affair would just end. She didn't particularly want a miscarriage, but if it happened the sadness she'd feel would be fleeting. After all, she reasoned, was Draco really the man she wanted to raise her children with? Of course not.

For one thing, there was zero chance that he would marry her, which was probably for the best. She certainly didn't want to be married to Draco Malfoy. She could just see their wedding day: He in black, looking more prepared for a funeral than a wedding, she in an unbecoming white gown that ballooned around her beach ball of a stomach. She would go into labor during the vows, her water would break and stain her dress, and he would grimace and leave as quietly as he could. Three weeks later, they'd file for divorce. What a happy couple!

No, she would stay single, and he would visit when it suited him. The baby would have a father and she would have as little to do with Draco as possible. That's what was best.

It made her sad that Harry hadn't been more understanding and open-minded when he'd been told the news, but it didn't surprise her. And Draco, naturally, had been entirely devastated. Never mind that she'd given him the best advice she possibly could regarding the situation, and she knew that advice had included the phrase, "Don't make him feel like it's a set-up." Naturally, Draco'd done exactly the opposite of what she'd told him to do.

Hermione sighed. Her child's father was a handful, that was for sure, and without Harry to take some of the weight off her shoulders he was starting to crush her. He visited on an almost-daily basis, venting his frustrations with poverty, with muggles, with the press, with the Wizarding world in general, with Harry, with _everything_ he came in contact with. He had problems when his programs were interrupted by news bulletins. He had problems when the take-out he ordered wasn't quite right. The man just had _problems_.

And now, he was her problem. What was she going to do with him?

The easy answer was to get him back together with Harry. They clearly were miserable without each other. Hermione was getting suspicious that they were watching each other's schedules. When one wasn't visiting her, the other was - the only difference was that Harry never talked at all, and Draco talked far too much.

Her budding fetus was starting to give her the faintest of butterfly kicks. She was beginning to suspect that it was agitated when its father was agitated, because whenever it got to doing little fetus backflips and whatnot, Draco usually wasn't very far away. And this time, of course, was no exception.

He came in like a whirlwind, his hair flying around his head in an unnaturally gorgeous configuration for someone so chaotic. "Hermione!" he exclaimed, as though he were surprised to see her in her own home.

"Draco, you really should get in the habit of knocking," she said, getting up from her cross-legged position on the floor - the position she usually adopted when deep thought was in order.

Draco waved his hand dismissively and barged right into his purpose, "I think we should get married." He looked at her with a bright, hopeful smile and happy, expressive eyes. "What do you think? Will you marry me?"

"I - _what_?" she demanded, completely flabbergasted and lost for words.

"It's a very simple question, really. And obviously it's the right thing to do. I think our parents would be very proud of us for getting married."

She blinked once, twice, thrice, and pressed a hand against his forehead. "Are you feeling okay? Do you seriously think that your parents would approve of you marrying a mudblood who's carrying an illegitimate child?"

"Well, it's my illegitimate child. I'm sure they'll be fine with it."

"What's the _matter_ with you?" Hermione was deeply perplexed and starting to worry for his sanity. "One minute you're telling me to get an abortion and the next you want to marry me? What the hell happened?"

"Nothing! I've just been doing a lot of thinking. It's no fair for this child to go through life without married parents. That's no way to live. So, really, will you do it? Because, see, I've already had the paperwork drawn up and all I really need from you is one little signature and your agreement to show up tomorrow at noon. Will you?"

"Just stop! Hold up! Let's back this up a little bit. Why don't you start at the part where you decided that you weren't gay, after all, that you didn't love Harry, and that you were willing to marry someone like me?"

He pursed his lips as though on the verge of some deep and philosophical reasoning, and then simply said, "Because."

"Because?"

Draco sighed. "Because, I want to be a good father. And good fathers marry the mothers of their children, don't they? I mean, we don't necessarily have to be happy together, do we? If we just give the baby what it needs - a mother and a father who haven't parted ways - then everything will be fine. When it turns seventeen, we'll part ways and just consider it a sacrafice worth making. Then I go off on my merry way and you can devote the rest of your life to bettering Wizard kind like you so desperately want to. No harm done."

Finally, it clicked into place for her, and what she now understood made her heart melt just a little. "Oh, Draco, sweetheart, we don't have to get married to give our child a good life." She placed an arm around his shoulders. "What we need is very simple, really."

"What is it, then? What makes a child happy? I mean, I had plenty of things to worry about when I was young but never once did I worry about my parents. I'd hate to force that kind of thing onto my own." He sighed and leaned into her a little, the adrenaline rush wearing off and the reality of what he'd proposed sinking in. "I was never happy. I'm still not happy." Draco looked at Hermione and asked, "Are you happy?"

She thought about it for a minute before answering, molding her response and tasting the words in her mouth as she said them, "Yes. I am happy. But happiness isn't about being joyful all the time." She paused, reaching for the words. "Happiness is about being able to recognize the times when life is good and acknowledging the times that it isn't without dwelling on them. Enjoying the simple things in life and all that."

They sat down and she propped her feet in his lap. "And to answer your question, I think that married parents don't matter to a child who never had married parents to start with. I think it matters more to child who winds up the victim of a divorce. I think that what makes a child truly happy is simply to feel loved."

"Do you really think that's all there is to it? I mean, there's an entire industry related to bringing children the best of this and the best of that and the latest in nutrition and fitness and learning the alphabet before they're one and everything. Does any of that matter?"

"Not in the least. That's all for the parents. You can't buy someone's love. Even a baby can see right through that."

"Okay, then, Miss Know-it-all, do you think our child will know that it was an unwanted result of an unwanted one night stand?"

Hermione shook her head. "What makes you think the baby is unwanted? Now that we have her, don't you want her?"

"Of course I do."

"Okay, then. Let it go. Enjoy the ride." She leaned her head back against the couch and felt the baby moving, feeling the life that would soon be hers coming closer with every second.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter Seven_

Harry was confused, and hurt. Of course he was confused and hurt. Draco was going to be a father? Hermione was having a baby? How had it happened? It just didn't add up to him. Obviously, he knew _how_ it happened, he wasn't a complete idiot, but it was perplexing nonetheless. A baby? Really? And Draco was the father? His mind kept spinning around the same idea over and over, trying to make sense of it and failing miserably.

What had he done wrong? He'd been the best mate he could be, as a friend and a lover. He'd taken the time to listen to every asinine thing Draco had to say, he'd been a supportive pillar when Draco needed to lean on him. And if Draco's reactions had been anything to go by, he was pretty sure that he was good in the sack. So, what was it? Had Draco just had some deep-seeded need to lay down with a woman? Just the thought sent shivers of disgust down his spine.

Hermione was pretty, yes, but not what he envisioned Draco's taste to be. Draco would go for someone more polished, sleek, who walked with grace and ease and the knowledge that she could have any man she desired. Hermione was fairly close to the exact opposite. But then, he reasoned, if Draco's tastes were so high-minded and particular, why had he gone for Harry?

The clear answer was that he loved Harry for who he was, not what he wanted Harry to be. But if that was the case, why had he slept with Hermione? Why had he knocked her up?

It was so confusing and hurtful.

Harry sighed and wrapped his hand around the cool glass that held his liquor. He wasn't sure what it was, he'd just asked for the "house drink" and the bartender had dropped a honey-colored substance in front of him. So far it was agreeing with him. Usually he'd be at Hermione's, sulking on the couch and letting the wheels in his head spin out of control, but he knew that Draco was up there, so here he was. The pub was across the street from her building, frequented by Wizards and Muggles alike. A crossroads in London, it wasn't quite the Wizard hang-out that was The Leaky Cauldron, but it had a charm all its own. One could be seen here, and one could also be invisible - lineage be damned.

"What's the matter, Harry?" Luna asked. She slid onto a stool next to him and crossed her legs at the ankles, letting them idly swing between the stool and the bar.

"What makes you think there's anything wrong?" he replied defensively, surprised at just how hoarse his voice really was. Even to his own ears he sounded like a terrible liar.

"Oh, a woman just knows when there's something wrong with a man," she said airily. Her voice had a breathless quality - it was something that Harry had never been able to quite put his finger on. She didn't sound like she'd been running, not that kind of breathless, but almost as though . . . she just never breathed.

He chuckled the slightest bit in spite of himself. "Does it count when they're both gay?"

She flitted her wrist dismissively, silver bangles sparkling against the pub's dim lighting. "Details." Scooting closer, Luna gave him a very disconcerting stare. "Seriously, Harry. What's wrong?"

Harry hesitated just the slightest bit, but knew that he couldn't hide a thing from Luna. "I don't know, it's just been rough lately. The last couple of months have been . . . "

"Hell?" she supplied sweetly, waving the bartender over. "A Shirley Temple, love, and take your time. I have a feeling we'll be here a while." To Harry, she said, "Tell me about it, Harry. Start at the beginning. Don't stop until you get to this very minute in this pub."

And so he did. He let his thoughts tumble unexamined from his mouth, feeling the anger and frustration and pain flow freely, feeling a peace coming over him as he allowed everything to come out in the open, feeling fresh and new and naked.

"It wouldn't even be so bad if we'd been having a rough go of it before this all happened," he explained, running his fingers through his hair and taking a sip of the strangely sweet amber liquor. "But everything was fine. We were starting to get serious, I mean, really serious. I slept over with him more nights than not. We had something going that was so much deeper than just shagging - but there was plenty of that, too, so it wasn't like he was hurting for sex. I just don't understand how he could do this to me."

Luna nodded sagely. "Well, he is a man," she said cryptically.

"And what's that supposed to mean? I'm a man, too, in case you hadn't noticed," Harry demanded, one part irritated and two parts intrigued by her approach to helping him.

"Well, why don't you think I date men? Because they do what men do. It's not their fault," she explained, not helping in the slightest. "Go on, Harry. Tell me the rest."

"And then, you know, he even made me this fantastic dinner. It was really good, but I was skeptical because he's crafty sometimes. So at first I thought that's what he was a little agitated about. And then I thought it was because, you know, he was going to confess his feelings."

"Ah. You thought he loved you," Luna supplied, drinking daintily from her fruity drink. "Fascinating."

"Well, yeah. Because I thought that four months was plenty enough time to fall in love with someone."

"Two minutes is enough to fall in love with someone. So is two years. It's all subjective," she said.

Harry stared at her. "Since when are you the wise one? And where did you get those bracelets?"

"From a gypsy I met in Romania. And wisdom is subjective, too. I'm just a good listener. Here," she said, taking off one of the bracelets and handing it to him, "this one is for good luck in love. I think you need it more than I do."

"This stuff doesn't work, you know," Harry said, but he took it and gave it a scrutinizing once-over. Upon closer review, he could see that it was etched with dancing fairies and radishes. After a long pause, he simply said, "Thank you."

"I really think it'll make all the difference for you. You shouldn't be so critical. Draco can't help it if he's a slut."

Harry laughed, really laughed. It felt good to find something amusing, and even better to be able to express his amusement. "You pinned him quick enough!" he exclaimed as soon as he could draw a breath.

"Of course. He's a man." Luna smiled and put her merrily-tinkling arms around him. "And so are you. But you'll be fine." She gave him a little squeeze and let go, patting his shoulder. "So, don't worry. When it's meant to be, you don't lose each other."

"Luna, I hate to contradict you because that's a very sweet sentiment, but I don't think we're meant to be. How could it be meant to be if a woman is having his baby? Who knows, maybe they'll even get married. Would I be the maid of honor or the best man? Ha!"

Luna's face adopted a deep, thoughtful expression. "The maid of honor, I'd say. It would be awkward the other way around."

"I was joking."

She smiled. "No, you weren't. They're not going to get married. They're going to be friends. She's probably already tired of seeing him every day. You really should forgive him, you know. For her sake."

"For her sake, huh?" Harry stared at his drink, shaking the glass in a circular motion, watching the liquid swirl and distort. "Maybe I should."

"No maybes here! You should! You will. So, go do it." She gave him a playful little shove of encouragement. "Go on, now! You're not needed here anymore."

Harry stared out through the grimy glass door at the building across the street, excitement and anxiety rising in his throat. "You know what? I will."


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter Eight_

Harry's palms were sweating. He wiped them on his pants, above the darkened damp fabric where he'd been wiping them before they'd become soaked entirely.

They didn't know he was coming. Or maybe they did. Maybe they were sitting in wait and giggling like school girls about the romantic notion of Harry coming to whisk away his lover in a passionate reunion. Despite his nerves and the frantic rolicking of his stomach, the image made him smile.

His feet made a heavy thump as they hit the stairs. Up, up, up, he went, thinking out his opening lines with every fall of his shoe. "I'm sorry I was an ass," he'd say. "I'm sorry I didn't love you enough to forgive you."

He remembered a similar anxious trip up these stairs, and the anger he'd felt that overwhelmed that sinking, falling feeling that his life was crumbling apart.

_Why?_ he'd asked, furious and hurt and sad, _What made you want to sleep with him?_

_It wasn't that I wanted to_, Hermione had replied. _I__t just happened, Harry. We didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't want this to happen._

They circled the same topic for half an hour, asking the same questions over and over again. He had wanted so badly to be angry, wanted so badly to be hurt and mean and rude. But he could see the glow in her face, see the love she clearly had developed for the unborn child. He could even see, if he looked closely, where the baby was growing and where it would continue to grow as the weeks and months wore on.

And in the end, he'd said the simple words that felt so good to say: _It's okay. I understand__._

Even thought he didn't. He hadn't then and he still didn't now. But he was finally ready to tell them both that it was okay, and that he understood.

Like it or not, they were in this together.

Harry knocked this time, his eyes widening when Hermione opened it, her shirt gaping around her middle. "You're huge!" he exclaimed.

She scowled. "Why, thank you. Come in, why don't you?" Grumbling under her breath, she shut the door. "I'm only four months in. How big do you want me to be?"

"I don't know anything about this stuff. I just know that you're getting fat."

Tight-lipped, Hermione pointed beyond the foyer to the living room, where Harry could see the back of a familiar, shiny, blonde head. "He's in there."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Draco was sprawled out on Hermione's couch, feeling strangely serene and almost half-asleep when he heard a terribly gruff voice that sounded far too much like Harry's. He tried not to react, even when every part of him wanted to bolt and run and avoid the conflict that he knew was sure to quickly ensue once Harry realized who Hermione's houseguest was.

But he didn't. He couldn't. Because he heard Hermione betray him with a grumbly, "He's in there," and he felt Harry's eyes on the back of his head.

_Caught like a rat in a trap_, he thought miserably.

Harry walked halfway into the living room and stopped short, as though he'd walked into an unexpected wall. They stared at each other for several long, heavy seconds before Hermoine coughed nervously. "Harry, don't you have anything to say to Draco?" she prompted hopefully and awkwardly.

"'Lo, Malfoy," Harry grunted, nodding his head just the slightest.

Draco returned the gesture. "Harry."

"So, I guess it's . . . four months down, huh?" Harry started again.

Keeping Harry's gaze, daring him to look him in the eye, Draco replied, "Yep."

"Been good so far?"

"Mostly."

"Morning sickness?"

"Nope. I'm eating fine."

Harry gave an exaggerated, exasperated sigh. "I meant her!"

"So ask her. I wouldn't know. I'm not around her 24/7."

Hermione gave a strange little giggle. "Feels like it sometimes."

Draco fell into silence, allowing his pent-up frustration and anger to build further, ready to explode in the angriest rage he'd ever experienced in his life when Harry said what he'd been waiting to hear for long, dragging months.

"I'm sorry, Draco."

Staring at Harry in disbelief, Draco's anger erupted into a fit of laughter so violent he struggled for breath. "Y-you're s-sorry? You're s-s-_sorry_?" His ribs were pained in the sharp, stinging way of unexpected exertion. "Sorry! That's amazing! All it took you was almost three months of no sex before you finally saw the light, huh? I'm so effing proud of you!"

"Draco!" Hermione admonished sharply. Harry's awkwardness had crumpled into the crestfallen appearance of a beaten dog. "You're hurting his feelings!"

Draco laughed ever harder, holding his sides while tears streamed down his cheeks. "Oh, God! I don't know how it could possibly be more ridiculous!"

He collected himself as well as he could and said, "So, in a freak accident I impregnate a woman I've always had a moderate to severe level of contempt for, which causes the immediate demise of my relationship. Then I wind up clinging to her because I was afraid to be lonely and somehow wanted to show my support for the child, while on my off days my ex is doing the same thing. And now, months later, he's suddenly 'sorry' for hurting my feelings! Could it get worse? Harry, are you pregnant, too?"

"Of course not. I'm not ready to have a baby." The words flew out of Harry's mouth. He grimaced and groaned, like he was trying desperately to rewind the reels and take it back. "No offense, Hermione," he offered.

"None taken," she replied airily.

"You've got a lot of reasons to be mad at me," Harry said, caution in his voice. He took a step forward, slowly encroaching the couch where Draco was practically flailing in hysterics. "But I want you to know that when I say I'm sorry, I mean it."

"Of course you do, Harry," Draco said, attempting to be reassuring. "But you see, it's not that simple. It's not a matter of you saying the magic words and, poof! Happily ever after! No. You can't take back what you did no matter how sorry you are, and neither can I."

"So what the hell can I even do to prove to you that I mean it?" Harry demanded, his voice and temper rising.

"I know you mean it, Potter! That's what I just said! It's just not that easy."

Harry sighed. "Can you ever forgive me?"

Draco grumbled.

"Can you?" Hermione pitched in hopefully, her eyes bright and happy for inexplicable reasons.

Looking from one hopeful pair of puppy-dog eyes to the other, Draco sighed. "Yeah, yeah. I guess. I'll try. No promises, though."

In one fell swoop Harry was sitting on the edge of the couch. He put his hand casually near Draco and gave him a hopeful look.

"I'm not going to hold your hand, Harry."

Harry nodded. "I understand."

Draco heaved a heavy sigh and felt himself sinking into the couch, feeling warm and content and almost at peace. It was a few seconds before he realized that it was Harry's side he was getting cozy with and not the couch.

Harry took his hand and grinned a little. "Together?"

"Together."


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter Nine_

Draco tapped his fingers against his pantlegs in bored agitation. Hermione was upstairs in her old bedroom, apparently rooting around for something to "cover up" what she didn't want her parents to see right away. She'd pointed to the couch before escaping up the staircase, silently indicating that Draco was to wait there. Harry, however, had rocketed up the stairs right behind her, and he could occasionally hear the two of them gabbing over the state of her wardrobe and trying to determine the most flattering way to cover her tummy. Why she'd chosen Harry for this and not Draco was completely beyond him.

Her parents weren't home, but they would be quite soon. Despite himself, Draco was nervous about being the first thing they see: He was almost certain that even Muggles didn't take kindly to random strangers in their homes. He looked around again, his quaint amusement at their Muggle appliances wearing off. The television set was nothing new to him, of course, but the other items corded to the walls were new and vaguely interesting: the thing that looked sort of like a telly without the screen, the shaded metal poles with little pull-chains, the merry-go-round on the ceiling.

_Oh, Merlin, finally_, he thought when he heard the two of them thundering down the stairs, Hermione in a Bohemian-style skirt and lumpy sweater, Harry looking handsome in his washed-out jeans and faded T-shirt. Draco gave a sigh of relief. "What took you so long?" he groused, but it was without heart. He was just relieved to have company in the unfamiliar and empty house.

"I just couldn't find anything that looked right! I haven't even gained all that much, but nothing fits anymore," Hermione said dejectedly, looking down at her belly and sighing.

Harry slung his arm around her in a comforting gesture. "Don't be like that. You don't look so bad."

"And you've got bigger things to worry about," Draco added darkly, although he secretly agreed that she was growing at what he considered an alarming rate. "Your parents will be here any minute."

"Oh, God, don't remind me," she moaned, flopping down on the couch with a dramatic flair. Draco smiled a little on the inside: Hermione had adopted some of his theatrics.

The lock turned and they froze. Hermione shot upright and attempted to smooth her sweater before realizing that smoothing it was exactly the wrong thing to do.

"Hi, Mum! Hullo, Dad!" she said in an overly-cheerful tone, smiling brightly at her parents, who appeared more than a little confused and quite alarmed.

"Hermione?" her mother said, reaching out for her daughter instinctively. She looked sharply at the two men in her living room, immediately asking, "Who're they?"

"Mum, Dad, you remember Harry Potter, don't you? You met him when we were still at school."

Hermione's father shook Harry's hand, nodding curtly and smiling briefly. "How d'you do?"

Harry nodded in reply, apparently not trusting himself to speak just yet.

"And this is Draco Malfoy, a friend of H - ours," she quickly amended, deciding that it was important to appear as though all three of them were great friends.

"Draco, that's an interesting name," her father noted as he shook his hand, too.

"Old Wizarding name, runs in the family," Draco replied, trusting that they at least knew something of wizards, considering. He furtively wiped his hand against the back of his pantleg.

They stood in an awkward silence for a moment. The pleasantries exchanged, surely her parents would want to know why their daughter and two male wizards were standing, uninvited, in their living room.

Draco knew Hermione had planned a great, long speech about how life was funny and gave you lessons to learn and how they must surely be longing for a grandbaby, and wouldn't it be funny if their family grew to be one of the great Wizarding families generations down the line? And yet, despite everything she'd plan to say (some of it ridiculous and irrelevant, Draco thought, but he knew nothing about talking to Muggles), she simply blurted out, "I'm pregnant."

They stared at her in disbelief, all four of them. She raised her hands to her mouth, as though trying to shovel the words back in, and whispered, "Oops."

"You're _what_?!" her father exploded, staring at her in disbelief and anger. "What do you mean, you're pregnant?! I don't remember giving you away!" His eye caught Harry and Draco, and his rage seemed to increase exponentially. "Which one of you did it?" he demanded. "Which one of you ruined my daughter's life? Oh, God," he wailed, looking like he'd been hit with a sack of Hagrid's rock cakes, "It was both of you, wasn't it? And she's not sure whose it properly belongs to, huh? That's why she brought both of you."

"Don't be ridiculous, Gerald," her mother snapped, hugging her daughter to her side and glaring at her husband, "of course she knows who the father is."

Draco stared from one parent to the other (Gerald? He hadn't known Hermione's father's name) and winced inwardly at the raw emotion on their faces. "Um, perhaps it's best if we go now . . . " he said in a small voice, making a small movement for the door.

"You're not going anywhere! You stay right there, young man, do you hear me?" Gerald Granger barked, his voice breaking slightly. It was clear that this level of frustration and disappointment in their daughter was completely new for the Grangers. She'd probably never even brought home a boy, Draco realized, let alone come home with two of them and proclaiming an advanced pregnancy.

"Relax, Gerry, relax. They're not going to just run off," her mother soothed, and then glowered at the two wary boys in her living room. "Are you?"

"No, ma'am," they both whispered, shuffling their feet awkwardly and looking at each other.

"Mum, I know who the father is, there's no question about that," Hermione said. It was obvious to Draco that she was in shock: Her face was pale and her eyes had a slightly glazed look. Even her voice was much more meek than usual.

"Who, sweetie?" her mother coaxed, stroking her daughter's hair. "It's very important that you tell us, you know."

Hermione swallowed hard. "I know, Mum, it's just . . . " she trailed off, staring at a portrait (a stationary one, Draco noticed, which was very boring in his opinion) of herself and her parents as a young family. She looked up at Draco, apparently confused. "What was I saying? I'm sorry, I just . . . I keep getting this ache."

"An ache? Where?" her mother asked, suddenly very focused and concerned about Hermione.

"In my back . . . and the lower part of my stomach," came the distant reply.

"Sit down, Hermione, for Heaven's sake," her father insisted, helping his daughter to the couch.

"I'll get her a glass of water," Harry offered, bounding off to the kitchen.

_Lucky bastar__d_, Draco thought.

"Hermione, just how far along are you?" her mother asked in a much softer and kinder voice than she'd used so far.

"Only six months, it can't be labor," Hermione replied. Harry handed her the water and she drank it thankfully. "Oh, that's a bit better."

"It was probably Braxton-Hicks," Gerald said knowledgeably. "Your mother had them all the time before you were born." He sat down next to his daughter, stroking her hand. "I'm sorry we were so harsh with you," he said apologetically.

"It's me," Draco blurted out, surprising even himself.

"What about you?" Hermione said scornfully, probably suspecting that Draco was trying to steal her moment. "Oh," she realized, adding, "yes, it is."

"You, what?" Gerald asked stupidly, before it fully sunk in for him. "Oh! You, huh? I suspected as much, Hermione prefers a more dignified man."

"Hmph," Harry muttered, but it was a fairly good natured mutter. There was no way to argue that his family was a more distinguished one than Draco's.

"Harry, do you mind if we maybe have a minute with Hermione and Draco?" Hermione's mother asked gently, directing him towards the kitchen. Harry nodded and left.

Hermione's mother sat down next to her daughter and held her hand. "Tell me what your plans are," she said, reminding Draco strangely of his own mother for a brief moment.

"Well," Hermione said, clearly not sure how to answer, "we're going to raise her."

"Oh, so, it's a girl?" Gerald asked excitedly. "Did you hear that, Theresa? It's a girl!"

"We don't know for sure," Draco was quick to add, "Hermione just has this feeling."

"Ah, dreams, I bet," her father said knowingly. Hermione nodded her confirmation.

"Sweetie, we do need to know what you're going to do, though," Theresa said, gently guiding the conversation back on course.

Draco looked at Hermione, sensing her nervousness, and spoke for the both of them, "We're going to do the best we can to be parents to our child. Other than that, we haven't really thought about much."

"Are you gainfully employed? Do you plan to marry? What will you do, Hermione, after the baby's born? Will you continue your work with the Ministry? Where will you live?" Gerald fired off his questions, making Draco's head spin.

"I'm not currently employed, no," Draco replied, "but I have a small sum of money to my name and Harry's full support." He looked at Hermione, whose eyes were silently begging him to leave it be at that. The truth was too heavy a burden for him, whatever she might think would be best, and he said the dreaded words, "I don't plan to marry your daughter."

"You'll marry her right now, young man!" Gerald blustered. "You'll march up to the courthouse and give that child your name!"

"I can't do that," Draco stated plainly.

"And why not?"

"Because I'm gay."

The silence that followed was almost welcoming, but it was so awkward and deadening that Draco doubted anything good could come from it.

"You're _what_?" Both of Hermione's parents exploded at once, jumping to their feet and staring at him incredulously.

"How in God's name are you gay when you're the father of her baby?" Gerald practically screamed.

Harry poked his head in from the kitchen, took one look at the murderous glare in Gerald's eyes, and scurried back to the table.

"It's complicated," Hermione said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It wasn't intentional."

"Of course not, sweetheart," Theresa cooed. Clearly her anger was directly solely at her grandchild's father. "We know you didn't mean for this to happen."

"Well, what about me?" Draco demanded. His temper was hard to provoke these days, but provoked he was, and angry. "Like I knew she was ovulating! I didn't even know what was happening!"

"How could you not know what was _happening_?" Theresa asked. Both of her parents seemed to be utterly confused and at the end of their ropes with this sudden turn of events.

"We were drunk," he said calmly, trying vainly to get his own anger and frustration under control. "Look, this isn't ideal for any of us, obviously. But it is what it is, and I suggest that you do what you can to make the best of it. Being upset with me isn't going to stop your grandchild's coming, nor will it serve you any purpose, now or ever. She's pregnant, it's my fault, we're going to raise the child with the resources that we have. That's all there is to it."

He turned to the kitchen and said loudly, "I think we're done here."

Harry came out, sensing Draco's distress, and wrapped a comforting arm around him. "You should be ashamed of yourselves, you know," Harry said. "A family is about much more than married parents. Hell, if that's what you think a perfect family is, you should meet my aunt and uncle. I'm sure you'd get on great with them. Hermione's baby has two parents, who don't love each other but love their child, and she'll have a great extended family, too, including her Uncle Harry." He looked at Draco with love in his eyes and reiterated, "Yeah, that's right. Her Uncle Harry. Don't think you can get by raising a child without me!"

Draco grinned. "I hadn't planned on it."

Hermione stood up, too, looking a bit more like her old self (albeit quite a swollen version of her old self). "If you love me and you love your grandbaby, you'll let this go now. I know you'll need time for this to sink in, I know it's big news, but you can't stop it now. I hope the next time we see you you're feeling more amenable to the situation, because if you're not then I guess she'll just have to go without grandparents."

And with that, leaving her parents utterly flabbergasted and speechless, they left together.

Draco chuckled, which set off a fit of laughter as they walked down the path to the sidewalk. "I think that went rather well, don't you?"

They all agreed that it had.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Sex in this chapter! Don't read if you're underage. Considering this fic is rated "M", anyway, if you're underage you already shouldn't be reading. Don't say I didn't warn you! :D_

_ Chapter Ten_

Draco ran his fingers lightly over Harry's skin. They hadn't had the chance to unwind in far too long, and today Draco'd finally taken the initiative, insisting Harry take him to his flat, which was considerably more couple-friendly than his own. He'd brought with him their old bag of tricks, a large sack where they'd stored their various toys in the days when they'd actually made love.

A novel concept, making love, Draco thought. Particularly between two men. Wizards didn't have the same contempt for homosexuality that was prevalent among Muggles. It was something that was seen as quirky and uncommon, much the same way being left-handed is considered quirky and uncommon for Muggles. Since there were assorted potions that could aid a same-sex couple in producing offspring (if they chose to do so), the issue of "dying out" as a result of homosexuality was a non-issue.

Look at Dumbledore! Not a man Draco would usally have looked to as an example, of course, but he'd grown up quite a bit from the days when he'd been plotting to kill the man. The greatest wizard of modern time, a benevolent and respected figure in Wizarding society, and yet he was fruitier than a banana. Homosexuality was just a part of life for some Wizards, and he was grateful that the society he'd been born into was more accepting than most. Another reason to preserve his distaste for Muggles.

Oh, but thoughts of such mundane and trivial things would have to wait. Harry's kisses trailing down his abdomen told him so, and he shivered, giving in to the sheer pleasure . . .

It was different now, they both thought so. When they'd made love before, it had been in blissful ignorance of what can happen to a relationship; even a good one. Now, knowing how precious every moment was, they savored it.

Before he knew it, Draco was pantsless and marvelling at Harry's skill: Approximately 30 seconds after the first playful nibble, he was lost in his ecstacy. His mind swirled, touching on little thoughts gently and briefly before being swept away again.

With a shudder and a sudden, almost violent thrust, Harry was inside him. It was beyond anything they'd felt together before. In the earlier days, they'd made love to please themselves: Now, they made love to please each other. Draco could tell that Harry was striving to satisfy his partner; he'd never felt this level of pleasure and raw power driving their lovemaking.

It was almost frenetic, the way Harry was taking him, and yet there was a gentle quality to it, too. Harry grabbed him by the neck, leaned in close to his lover's ear and whispered, "Come."

It was what Draco needed. Harry's hot breath on his throat, his hardened body leaning against him, the feel of Harry deep inside him, the intensity in his eyes . . . with a shout and a wild bucking against his partner, he came.

Harry finished less than a minute later and smiled bemusedly at his love.

"You know I love you, don't you?" he said in a whisper, holding Draco close.

"Of course I do," Draco replied, kissing Harry and returning his affection.

They layed curled together for a while. Draco had nearly fallen asleep when he heard Harry's voice again.

"Do you think anything like this will happen again?"

Draco smirked, "Well, I hope so."

"No, not this. _This_," Harry said, waving his hand at his flat.

"Ah. You mean the baby thing," Draco said. It was a statement, not a question. What else could Harry be referring to?

"Yeah, that." He looked expectantly at his lover. "Well?"

"Well, no. I can't see anything like that ever happening again," he said honestly. "I didn't expect it to happen the first time. It was just one of those things. Life throws curveballs sometimes, I guess."

"I know. I just wish I'd been more, I dunno, prepared, I guess." Draco maintained his eye contact with Harry, silently urging him to continue. "I didn't see it coming. I thought we were doing so well. And now, here we are, six months later. You know, I can only remember making love with you twice in the last six months. How's that for sad? No wonder we're been so angry at each other."

"Did you really think I did it on purpose?" Draco asked, feeling a little sad the prospect.

Harry shook his head. "No. Never. But I was angry and sad that you'd let it happen. I thought there was more to us than that."

Draco kissed him longingly, fulfilling the promise of his love. "There was. There is. It was a stupid mistake and I can't take it back." He wrapped his arms around Harry. "And I try not to be bitter about it now, too. What good will that do me? It's over, it's done with. I have to try to be satisfied with the knowledge that I still have you, even if nothing else is going to be the same."

The weight of Draco's words covered them like a blanket, keeping them silent and somber. No, nothing would ever be the same once the baby was born. If all went well, maybe things would be a little better.

But, then again, maybe not, Draco thought. Maybe things will be considerably worse. Maybe the baby will have colic. Maybe Hermione will develop postpartum depression. Maybe Harry will leave him for another sexy, sleek, childless man.

Each scenario was less likely than the last, Draco knew, but it was still very hard to keep from worrying. There were so many variables, so much that could happen. And there was more yet that was simple inevitable: Things that would happen, good and bad, that he couldn't change.

It was frightening sometimes, mostly when he was lying in an empty bed late at night, unable to sleep.

He wasn't in an empty bed now, though, and it wasn't late at night, and he could very easily sleep if he let himself. Harry was here with him, holding him and supporting him. He realized that was how it should be, and how it always would be.

There were no laws governing marriage in Wizarding society the way they did in Muggle society, Draco knew. There was no reason why he couldn't publicly profess his love for Harry in the strongest way possible. And now the idea had seized him. Draco felt excitement coursing through him at the very thought of having Harry as his husband. When he'd proposed to Hermione, he'd had a similar frenzy, but that was a time when he'd been muddled and lonely.

Now, he was thinking clearly again and more sure than ever that he wanted what he wanted.

Draco sat up suddenly, pulling away from Harry and taking him by the hand. "Harry," he said seriously, looking his lover in the eye, "I have something to ask you. And I want you to know that I mean it."

"Okay," Harry said cautiously, waiting.

Draco continued to hold Harry's gaze, seeing in his eyes all the love in the world, all the answers to the questions he'd asked all his life. "Harry, will you marry me?"

Harry bit his lip, his eyes watering slightly. He blinked back tears. "Of course I will."

Draco didn't have a ring for him, but he had other ideas about what he could do to make it official. They made love again, Draco taking Harry this time. His passionate intent poured from him with every stroke, until they drove each other to ecstacy and laid in each others' arms again.

"You're mine now," Draco whispered, stroking Harry's cheek loviningly. "Mine, forever."

Harry grinned. "You bet your ass I am." He kissed Draco, sharing his love and desire for marriage.

"What do you think Hermione will say?" Harry asked, snuggled up to Draco and nuzzling his neck.

"I think she'll probably say it's about time," Draco replied with a grin. "What d'you think?"

"She'll probably go into labor from the shock."

They laughed together, chuckling and kissing. Eventually, their exertion caught up with them and they fell asleep in the same position they'd spent the last few minutes in.

_We did it_, Draco thought as he drifted off, _we made it work_. Harry snored gently and Draco slipped softly into dreams.


	11. Chapter 11

_Chapter Eleven_

Draco wasn't nervous when he proposed to Harry. He wasn't too nervous when they broke the news to Hermione's parents. After a while, he wasn't even really nervous about the prospect of being a parent. But this, this made his palms sweat and his legs shake.

Draco had to tell his mother.

What was nerve-wracking for him was the complete lack of foreseeable outcome. His mother had never been the same after their possessions had been seized and his father sent to Azkaban. She lived now on a Ministry-owned farm in the English countryside, with charms protecting her and also monitoring her. Narcissa Malfoy was not allowed to leave the Ministry's property without written consent, and her submissive nature kept her from requesting the privilege too often. As a result, she only saw her relatives when they came to her.

He hadn't seen his mother for close to a year, since the previous Christmas. She'd asked for him to see her in her meek way, sending a Ministry owl to request his company. They'd had a small party for the two of them. He cooked and she sat, staring at the fire. He hadn't heard from her since, although she promised to keep in touch.

That was her way, though. Narcissa was a woman haunted by her past and engulfed by her demons. Draco felt terrible about giving her something else to be worried about, but such as it was he had no other option. He just had to suck it up and do it.

And that's why he was here now, walking up to her door and trying to muster up the courage to knock.

"Draco?" his mother's voice called, apparently from outside her home, which was something new for him. "Love, what you are doing here?"

Stumbling down the stoop toward the sound of Narcissa's voice, Draco replied, "I came to see you, Mother."

He saw her, then, just around the side of the house. She was stooped over and apparently tending a garden. Narcissa stood up and stretched her back, smiling at her son. She seemed almost . . . happy, and peaceful. Very strange, indeed. "Well, yes, I assumed you meant to see me," she said with a bit of her old bite. "But my question is, why?"

"Well, I hadn't really intended on just springing it on you like this," Draco started, but his mother cut him off.

"What did you intend to do, then? Dance around the subject all day, wine and dine me so that I would be dazzled by whatever stupid thing you'd done that you needed to discuss with me?" She patted his face affectionately. "No, darling, I'd rather you just come out and tell me so we can spend our time together in more productive ways."

Draco was flabbergasted. Narcissa was the last person he expected to be straight-forward and honest, particularly after so many hardships. Honestly, he'd expected her spirit to still be broken, the way it had been the last time he'd seen her. And yet here she was, gardening and speaking up for herself; in general, she was being strong.

"Can we maybe go inside for tea?" Draco asked, gesturing to the door.

Narcissa shook her head. "My garden is inside enough for us," she said, waving her hand at the table and chairs arranged on a small patio. They were surrounded by flowers of all varieties, and the garden she'd just been tending to seemed to be a vegetable garden, judging from the lack of flowers but abundance of greenery. It truly was a beautiful sight.

"Mother, when did you start all of this?" he asked, waiting for his mother to sit down and then gracefully positioning himself in a chair. "You weren't gardening the last time I was here. You weren't really doing anything at all the last time I was here."

Narcissa pursed her lips thoughtfully, tapping her chin with a long, graceful finger. The past few years had aged her considerably, but they'd also restored her humanity: She no longer seemed cold-hearted or cruel. The laughter and love that had always lived deep inside her had found their way to the surface. She'd become a human being again. "That's true, Draco," she said, clearly choosing her words carefully. "I wasn't. But there's a good reason for it.

"You see, when your father was taken, when our possessions were taken, I thought I'd lost everything. I'm sure you can sympathize." Draco nodded, and she continued. "I spent some time feeling sorry for myself, for Lucius, for you. I didn't think it was fair that we had been the victims of such heinous fate, such vicious persecution.

"But then I realized, Draco, that we earned it. We had made mistakes, yes, even you had made mistakes. It wasn't necessarily our fault that we were born into Dark Wizarding families, but it was entirely our fault that we did nothing to stop it, or to better ourselves. We allowed the trap to ensnare us and turned a blind eye to all that was happening in the name of pure blood.

"When my sentence was handed down and I was sent here, I saw it as an injustice that was dealt to me and I refused to see my good fortune in being saved the hell that is Azkaban. I'm sure you remember the way I was when it first began." Again, Draco nodded. His mother's retelling of the events of their lives was entirely true, painfully so. He wanted to ask her to stop, to avoid such taboo and tender subjects, but he was entirely engrossed and could do nothing but listen.

"It was after you left here the last time, at Christmas, that I had my second realization. I realized that I didn't have to be alone here, that I didn't have to hate every second. I asked Andromeda to visit one day, on a whim, and I can confess to you that at first she refused. But several days later, she admitted that she'd been thinking of me, particularly since the sentencing, and that it would be for the best if we reconnected. We'd both come to know loss, and we'd both realized that family is the most important gift we are given on this earth.

"So, she visited. She commented that they'd given me quite a nice little cottage, especially since I am technically imprisoned here, and that I should start a garden to spend my days with. She lent me some spell books and helped me file the paperwork to allow me the privilege to use magic in the garden. I seldom do, it makes the tasks go by far too quickly when I'd rather savor it, but it's quite handy if any of my plants are in need of a pick-me-up."

Draco didn't know what to say. He felt completely caught off-guard. The mother he'd expected was certainly not the mother he'd found, and he didn't know how to even broach the subjects that he needed to bring up. Finally, he grabbed hold of the concept of family and ran with it. "I'm glad you brought up the bit about family, Mother," he said, gulping down a cup of tea. "Because there are some very important family-related things I need to talk to you about."

"Oh?"

"Oh." He took a second cup of tea and downed that, as well. His throat was feeling raw and scratchy. "Well, for one thing, I'm getting married."

Narcissa's face broke in a wide grin and she clapped her hands excitedly. "Oh, that's wonderful news, Draco! Who is she?"

"See, that's the funny part: It's actually a he. Harry Potter, to be specific."

Her lips pursed again, but this was a more familiar you've-done-something-to-displease-me purse. "Hmm. I see."

"That's all you have to say about it? 'Hmm, I see'?" Draco was moderately annoyed.

"No, of course not. But I'd rather you get through all you have to say before I start passing my judgments and giving you my advice."

Draco squirmed uncomfortably. "See, about the second bit I needed to tell you, it's going to be even more of a shock that me marrying Harry."

"I doubt that, but go on."

"I'm having a child."

"You're _what_? Draco, you can't be pregnant, that's not how our family does things! At the very least I hope you're not out parading about the fact that you're carrying - "

"I'm not, Mother," Draco said shortly, "Hermione Granger is."

At this, Narcissa actually smiled a true smile. "Oh, I see. That's fascinating." She folded her hands and rested her chin on them, smiling her bemused smile at her son. "That's very fascinating. So your fiancee is actually not the person you're procreating with? Good. Very good." Obviously noting Draco's confused expression, she continued, "Draco, it's not typically acceptable in pureblood society for two men to procreate. Marriage is one thing, but same-sex children just typically come out . . . off. Strange. There has been some indication that it can lead to Squib children, even. Not the sort of start you'd want to give a baby, is it?

"But the idea of you procreating with a woman - and an intelligent one at that! - is entirely different. Hermione Granger is a perfectly acceptable vessel for your child. Yes, that will do nicely." She smiled. "Well, since that's the case, I'm happy for you."

Draco stared at his mother, trying to keep his mouth closed. "So, you're okay with me marrying a man and having an illegitimate child?"

"In short, yes. They're both perfectly acceptable as long as you raise the child to uphold proper Wizard conduct. And invite me to the wedding, of course." Her eyes were twinkling and merry, and she couldn't seem to contain the wide grin that kept popping onto her face.

"So, what were you thinking for colors? How about silver and gold?"

Draco grinned. "Silver and gold sound perfect."


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter Twelve_

A final, minute adjustment to his tie left him with nothing else to prepare. While alone in his room, Draco could hear the guests milling about outside, and he could also hear someone or another (probably a venue employee) ushering them to their seats.

This wedding had no bride, but still they had decided not to see one another until the ceremony began. Draco was a superstitious sort and Harry respected that, for the most part. More than once, he'd stuck his head in the door and it would've been left there without him if he hadn't moved just a little faster than Draco, laughing in his youthful, boisterous way and running down the hall.

His mother's color scheme had gone over nicely, and Draco's tie was a swirling reflection of silver and gold. He'd tried desperately hard to convince Harry to wear the same, to no avail. Harry was set in his ways and firmly believed that wearing something so flagrant would, "Make me look gay."

It was little things like this that both infuriated and enthralled Draco.

He'd somehow imagined a bigger wedding than this, with more attendees. All in all there were roughly one hundred guests. Hermione was in the front row, a heavy nine months pregnant and barely able to stand. It had been a struggle to decide whether or not she should even be there, but she refused to miss the wedding. Ginny was there, as were a great number of other red-headed wizards who could only be the Weasleys (on Harry's side, of course) and Luna sat complacently next to her, fiddling idly with her hair. His mother sat tearfully in the row opposite Hermione, on Draco's side, dabbing at her eyes. His aunt, Andromeda was there and little Teddy next to her. The little fellow was barely five years old and couldn't contain his energy - more than once Andromeda had to pull him back to his seat.

There were other relatives, but they were the sort that he would never had invited if this wedding had taken place before the war. The outcasts, the oddballs, and they didn't take up much space. Harry's side was a good five rows more full than Draco's.

Draco wasn't really supposed to peek at the congregation, he supposed, as it went against the tradition he was striving so hard to uphold, but he couldn't help himself. It was such a sight to behold.

The wedding was to take place on the balcony of a historical Wizard manor. A trellis had been erected over the entire patio and draped in silver and gold sheer fabric. Enchanted bursts of light, probably best compared to Muggle Christmas lights, were woven through the fabric and strewn about the air, where they hung as though on strings.

The altar was erected as a shorter extension of the trellis, decorated the same with the addition of enchanted butterflies, silver and gold, who hovered and flitted about the air like tiny fairies.

Musicians, a four piece string ensemble, were stationed to the left of altar and played a lilting, haunting melody. The music itself spoke of love and longing, promises and romance. They'd opted out of a vocalist, and hearing the performance of what they'd chosen, Draco was glad. All that needed to be said was said through the vibrating beauty of the musicians' fingers.

A diminuative witch whom Draco remembered from the consultations rapped lightly on his door before noticing that he was already halfway out of the room. "Oh! Mr. Malfoy, we're nearly ready to start now."

Draco nodded. "Is Mr. Potter ready?" The witch confirmed that he was and went to fetch him. A few moments later she returned with Harry tagging along behind, a smile on his face and a spring in his step.

"Well, don't you look handsome?" he said with a wink.

Draco grinned. It was all he could manage, he didn't entirely trust himself to speak.

"You're on, gentlemen," the witch said, beaming at the couple, and they set off down the aisle.

A Wizard marriage ceremony differs little from a Muggle ceremony, save for a few key elements. For instance, Draco doubted that muggles had a ceremonious Binding of the Wands in their typical wedding, or for the guests to shoot sparks in the air in celebration of the couple's marriage of souls.

It went by quickly, too quickly in Draco's opinion, and before he knew it he was wrapped in his husband's arms, celebrating their union with a kiss. Their guests exploded in applause and showered them with golden sparks. Draco smiled widely and held Harry close to him.

Harry laughed joyously when a bit of the shower that had gone astray got tangled in his hair. "I'm starving," he said to Draco, rubbing his growling stomach. "Let's eat."

They laughed and strolled to the doors of the balcony together, while their guests were ushered behind them by the venue employees.

The rest of the evening passed in lavish splendor. Draco couldn't find one thing to be upset with, which was saying something as he'd been quite harsh with the venue about getting everything just _so_. Harry was boisterous and Ron Weasley delivered a heartfelt toast about his age-old suspicions of Harry's homosexuality.

They danced, even, holding each other close. The violins reached epic octaves just as Harry kissed Draco, forgetting the formalities of the occassion and unleashing his passion.

"You're not supposed to do that," Draco said, his hair a bit disheveled.

"Are you complaining?" Harry asked with a grin.

Draco kissed Harry, squeezing his butt affectionately. "Not now, not ever."

When the last of the guests had retired to their seats and the murmurs of conversation had died down, they were given directions out of the manor and thanked for coming to their wedding. Draco and Harry stood by the door, shaking hands with the guests as they left, most of whom muttered congratulations at the newlyweds.

"Congratulations," said Luna airily, looking not at Harry but somewhere over his left shoulder.

"Er, Luna, what're you looking at?" Harry asked, turning around to see.

"Oh, it was nothing, but I could've sworn I saw a nargle larvae in that bough . . . " she trailed off with a distant smile and left, holding Ginny's hand.

Draco mimed a spiral at his ear, and mimed, _She's nuts!_

_Tell me about it_, Harry mimed back with a smile.

When Hermione left, she wrapped them both in a bear hug (or what passed for a hug from her these days, there were some physical hindrances in the process) and kissed Harry on the cheek. "You deserve this," she told them, her eyes watering (although with her hormonal mood shifts, she was nearly always crying). "You're going to be good parents."

She left before she could explain fully what she meant, waddling as daintily as she could down the cobblestone corridor.

"What did she mean by that?" Draco asked, even though he thought he had a semi-decent idea.

Harry shrugged. "Dunno." In one smooth move, he swept Draco off his feet and carried him out of the ballroom and to their suite, which conveniently was also at the historic manor. It had been a defining feature in Draco's decision to book it. "And right now, I don't much care."

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Several hours and several lovemaking sessions later, they'd nearly drifted off to sleep when a sudden tapping at the window jarred them awake.

"What now, Hedwig?" Harry groaned, staring at the window and blinking stupidly. She tapped again, more urgently, and Harry stumbled over to let her in. Sticking our her leg and looking triumphant, she delivered her message and flew off into the night.

The neat lettering on the envelope suggested Hermione, but the spacing and the slight shakiness of the characters suggested urgency. Harry tore it open.

"Who's it from?" Draco asked, but he hardly needed to. Who else would send them an owl on their wedding night?

Harry read it quickly, skimming the few short lines with his mouth hanging open. "It's Hermione," he said, "and she's in labor."

Draco groaned. "What else is new?" She'd already had two false starts and three visits to St. Mungo's for surveilance on her progress.

Looking up at Draco somberly, Harry said, "Yeah, but this time I think it's serious."

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, his concern rising.

Harry was silent for a while, trying to think of the best way to convey the message without causing alarm. "She's bleeding."

"Women in labor bleed, Harry! What the hell did she think was going to happen?" Draco sighed and heaved himself out of bed. "I need to get to the bottom of this. She's at St. Mungo's?"

"I guess she would be now, she said she was leaving in her letter."

"Let's go."


End file.
